


i can tell that we are gonna be friends

by kimwexler



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Kid Fic, and ted hates bill cuz hes too loud!, ted and bill are first graders!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimwexler/pseuds/kimwexler
Summary: seven year old ted is lonely until he meets bill.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan & Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	i can tell that we are gonna be friends

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the white stripes.
> 
> written on bill and ted day 2020. 6/9 dudes!

Ted has a bad habit of spacing out. He does it more than he would like to, falling into a state of consciousness that’s neither awake nor asleep, completely detached to the world around him, lost in himself and his thoughts. Or lack thereof, really. 

For as long as he can remember, Ted has been a frequent user of the space out method. Whenever he was feeling any emotion that was less than desirable, he was able to switch off his head and feel and think absolutely nothing. It was a way to protect himself at first, with Ted falling into this state constantly as a child. 

He had been a weird kid, always going against the grain, and never having many friends. And because it’s the 80’s, if you’re different in any way, that’s an open invitation to any and all bullies. Every day on the bus ride to school, a young Ted would lure himself into outer space, slowing his breathing and counting to the highest number he could think of (which, being Ted, wasn’t very high). 

By the time he would arrive at school, he already had his head in the clouds, impenetrable against any taunting or teasing. If you can’t hear their words, it can’t affect you, right?

Ted would never speak in class, choosing to set his head down on the table or draw in a notebook. Instead of teachers noticing the tell-tale signs of a child in need, they would just sigh in annoyance at the boy’s mindlessness. Theodore needs to work on being more attentive in class. Theodore needs to work on playing and interacting with fellow peers. Theodore does not respond to name being called. The list of grievances would crowd his report cards heavily, which, in turn, would only result in a very angry Captain Logan. (After several routine beatings, Ted learns how to hide any further report cards.)

And while at first, the young boy only needed to shut himself down when it came to school, it soon became normal to forever stay in his spacey state. He used to jump off the bus and run to his doorstep, overjoyed to be at home, excited to escape the turmoil he experienced from eight to two-fifteen, five days a week. But soon enough, things start getting bad at home too. 

Ted didn’t know what a normal relationship looked like. What it was like to see your mom and dad kiss. To see them share a bed, and hold a conversation that didn’t end in house-shaking yells and lots of tears. That was Ted’s normal. 

The six-year-old would keep his ear to the wall, listening along to the argument, trying to determine when Captain Logan would storm out of the house, and when it would be safe to console his mom. After hearing the revelatory door slam, Ted would creep down the hall and into his mom’s home office. It’s where she now slept in fear of Captain Logan, keeping a stack of neat bedding on the edge of the couch and the door locked whenever he was home. But to Ted, that was just his mom’s bedroom. Where she would read him stories and sing him songs and teach him exactly what to do when someone is saying mean things to you. 

“Keep your head down, Teddy, and allow your brain to take a vacation,” she would say, holding her son close to her chest. “Where would you like your brain to take a vacation to?”

And Ted would think, pondering over every possibility. Should he take his brain to the beach, and splash and play in the water? What about a meadow with a pond? Maybe he could go fishing. “Could we go fish?” He would ask his mother, and in response, she would just smile and nod. You can go anywhere you want to go, Ted, anywhere that’s far, far away from here.

Eventually, after a couple of months of silence, Ted’s mindset was enough to place him in a special focus group for struggling students. Every day, teachers would sit down with the boy one on one, but Ted was still lost in his own dream world, glancing off into nothing. School psychologists, social workers, and counselors would come in regularly to poke Ted’s brain, trying to figure out why exactly he was so keen to shut out to the rest of the world. And even after meetings full of lollipops and stuffed animals and lots and lots of tests, still, no one could determine what was wrong with the boy. 

In frustration and a form of surrender, he was branded with a new kind of diagnosis (something called ADHD) and thrown into a classroom with other kids with the same issue. And if Ted was having a hard time focusing before, this new class was a personal hell, with all it’s unique and terrifying loud noises and hyper children. All he wanted was to be home in his mother’s arms. But his mom hasn’t been home in a while, busy with duties other than her downhearted son. So this class had to do for Ted, as much as he hated it.

Ted wasn't supposed to use hate, but it's the only word he could think of to describe his new setting. He hated the way his teachers talked down to him, and he hated that he now had to take medication that made his head feel like it was filled with cotton. Most of all though, he hated his classmates.

Every morning, little Ted would trudge into the special classroom that was held in a separate wing of the school, enormous Scooby-Doo backpack in tow. Already prepared for a rotten day, Ted would have his mind stuffed up and assembled to block out everyone he came in contact with. He would enter the classroom, and Mrs. Tracey would sing out a good morning, which was enough of a signal for Ted to begin to shut down. 

The students had arranged seating like most first graders would, their desks marked with decorative labels presenting their names. Ted, was much as he would like to sit alone, free to set his head on his desk and mope the rest of the day, was partnered with Bill Preston. Bill was short, even for a first-grader, and had a face that made him seem like he was always just waking up, even though he had more energy than Ted had ever seen in a kid. Ted hated that. 

Bill was stuck in the special class for reasons very different from Ted. Instead of issues when it came to communication, Bill personally struggled with listening to authority and following rules- especially when it came to paying attention. Even in this new classroom structure, the hyperactive child refused to listen to any lessons. What was going to stop Bill from running out of the class and on to the monkey bars? Not a teacher, that’s for sure, making it a daily routine to sporadically run out of class and let Mrs. Tracey chase him around for the rest of the day. Ted finds this to be a most redeemable quality about Bill, as much as he would hurt Ted’s ears with his hollering. 

Today is no different when it comes to Bill’s routine. About thirty minutes after lunchtime, the class is deep into a lesson about telling time on an analog clock (although Ted finds this to be most non-useful as he can tell time on a digital clock really well already). Bill, annoyed and bored, decides that he’s had enough of sitting and learning. He stands up, declares he’s done with learning for the day, and throws his plastic chair as far as a first-grader could. Then he runs out of the classroom, with both the teacher and teacher’s aid rushing after him. (At one point, the teacher’s aid used to stay back to accompany the rest of the children, but Bill soon proved that he was too tricky for only a single catcher. He usually needed a whole army of staff members to corner him and drag him back to class.)

Like clockwork, the gaggle of first-graders leap out of their seats and crowd around the window to watch the cat and mouse game. They all cheer on their classmate and boo their teacher, banging against the windowsill with childlike emphasis. But Bill seems off his game today, Ted thinks. So when he turns a light shade of green and yacks into the classroom garden, it makes sense. Vomiting is gross, but Ted watches along with the rest of the kids, groaning in disgust and morbid curiosity.

The pursuit is cut short, with the teachers putting aside their annoyance for chasing Bill, and instead focusing on rescuing what they could of their plants. The kids return to their seats begrudgingly, half disgusted at Bill for vomiting and half disappointed he would give up so easily.

While the teacher’s aid sprays down the garden pen in a hurry, Mrs. Tracey pokes her head in the classroom and motions for Ted to come to talk to her. 

“Theodore, can you walk Bill to the nurse's office, please?” She asks, handing him the wooden hall pass. “He needs a buddy to leave the classroom.” 

And as much as Ted doesn’t want to, and would rather stay at his desk playing with the toy analog clock with the bendy arms, he agrees wordlessly. Besides, he didn’t want to have his card moved down from green to red for bad behavior. 

The two boys slowly trudge to the nurse's office, not bothering to make conversation, as Bill was too nauseous and Ted was too… Ted. When they arrive at their destination, they find the nurse on the phone, presumably speaking to the parent of the sick little boy sitting next to her on the paper-covered couch. Looking at the boy, Ted selfishly wishes that he was in his position, all sickly and needing to go home. 

He liked being at home, sick. Even though his mom worked from nine to five, she usually made an effort to get off work to nurse her son. They would spend the whole day at home, watching cartoons and having chicken noodle soup, and Ted would usually pretend he was much sicker than he really was in an attempt to stay home just another day, relaxing with his mom. He thinks about every single toy and game he would give up to be sick tomorrow…

“Hey!” Says Ted, turning to his sick classmate with a sudden realization. “Can you get me sick?”

Bill, eyes squinted against the sun, looks over at him. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“Well, you ralphed when you were running, so I think you’re sick.”

Bill shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. School lunch today was gnarly. I’m not real sick. Just stomach sick.”

Ted mulls over this, thinking about the lunch of strawberry milk, baby carrots, and Salisbury steak that was served earlier that day. He thought it was pretty okay, but he still can’t get over the fact the first-grade class was eating at 10 AM. That would make anyone sick.

The two kids sit in silence, with Ted pondering any other way to get sick and Bill patiently waiting to call his mom or dad to come to pick him up. Bill, still holding his head with nausea, looks over at Ted with realization. “My Dad is sick though.”

Ted looks up from his sneakers, tilting his head like a puppy. “Really?”

Bill nods quickly. “Uh-huh. The flu. It’s grody.” He says, scrunching his nose. “You can come over and catch it if you want.”

The flu. Ted’s mind sparks with weeks of staying home alone with the sickness. “Can I come over tomorrow?” His tone sounds like he’s asking the other boy to join him on a trip to Disneyland.

In response, Bill just smiles and nods with enthusiasm, then disappearing into the nurse's office when it’s his turn for the typical treatment of ice and a call home. Ted, sitting against the wall of the hallway, watches as Bill as the nurse sticks a thermometer under his tongue. And as much as it’ll be nice to vomiting next to his mother in a few days, Ted finds himself more excited about the fact he may have a new friend soon. Maybe he didn’t have to stay home, after all. Bill seemed more fun anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to jo for beta-ing!  
> follow me on twitter at @mostexceIIent! (the two Ls are Is cuz i'm sneaky)


End file.
